Love is Touching Souls : 100 Theme Drabbles
by Shelliebelle
Summary: An attempt at the Usagi and Mamoru : A Love Like No Other 100 drabble challenge. Individual, unrelated drabbles, unless otherwise noted.
1. 32 Rain at Midnight

Part one, drabble 32: Rain at midnight

Usagi lay in bed, her restless fingers echoing the faint tap-tap-tap of the rain on her balcony. The clock across the room ticked the seconds rhythmically, and the soft moonlight on its face revealed the time to be just before midnight.

Usually by now, Usagi was fast asleep. But tonight her fingertips itched and her feet danced uneasily beneath the covers, and before she knew it, she was sliding out of bed. She pulled her nightgown over her head, stumbling into some blue jeans and a high-necked pink shirt. She shrugged into a sweater and tiptoed down the stairs, through the silent house. After she took an umbrella from the closet, she slipped out the front door and headed down the street towards the arcade.

All was quiet in the suburban neighborhood, except for the steady thrum of the rain on the cement. Golden halos of light ringed the lampposts, casting shadows across the street. A lone car moved slowly down the street, headlights blinding Usagi for a moment before they slid further along the street, washing up over a solitary figure who stared back at Usagi with faint surprise etched on his face.

He didn't have an umbrella. His black hair was matted with water, and a tiny drop of water slipped off the end of his nose. He lifted one hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles there, and she noticed that at the very least, he had a water resistant jacket on.

"Odango?" Mamoru asked finally, shoving one hand into the pocket of his sodden jeans.

Usagi's temper immediately sparked to life. "Don't call me that," she ordered, moving forward as though she would pass him by. He caught her arm, tugging her back gently.

"What are you doing out? It's past midnight on a school night. It's dangerous for you to be out here by yourself," he said softly.

"None of your business," she replied, trying to tug her arm away from him. "Honestly, Mamoru-baka, you sound like my mother." He let her go, and kept a few paces behind her as she made her way down the street. Finally she lost patience.

"What on Earth are you doing?" she asked.

"Following you," he said.

"I can see that," she replied with some irritation, "but why are you following me?"

He brushed his soaked bangs out of his face.

"So I can make sure you get home okay."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She thought it over for a moment, then abruptly turned and headed back the way she'd come. He studied her curiously for a moment. Impatiently, she turned back to him.

"Are you coming?" He grinned, jogging to catch up with her.

"You might as well share my umbrella," she invited grudgingly. "But you'll have to hold it. I can't reach high enough to cover you, too."

He obliged her, taking the umbrella from her grasp and making sure they both had shelter from the cool rain. They walked in a companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Why are you out here this late?" Usagi asked finally.

"No particular reason," he hedged, shrugging his broad shoulders. "You?"

"No particular reason," she responded stiffly, and he laughed.

"I couldn't sleep," he said admitted. "Sometimes a walk helps clear my head. I got caught in the rain. I would have gone home, but I saw you walking along."

"I couldn't sleep, either. My mother would have kittens if she knew I'd left the house." She darted a guilty glance at him, but he only smiled and tugged on one of her ponytails. She smacked at his hand, and he laughed.

"I won't tell her," he said, "if you promise not to go out this late alone again."

Usagi shrugged noncommittally. "What if I just feel like going for a walk?" she asked.

"Then get someone to go with you." He stopped and tweaked her nose, and Usagi realized they'd reached her house. She wondered how Mamoru had known where she lived.

"What if there isn't anyone to walk with me?" she asked.

"Then I'll go with you. Now, get inside. You'll catch a cold." He handed her the umbrella and pushed her gently towards the door.

"You should talk," she scoffed, motioning to his soaked clothes and soggy shoes. She hesitated on the threshold and all at once shoved the umbrella back into his hands. "Take it," she said, slipping through the front door. "You're already soaked to the bone. You can give it back to me tomorrow."

Mamoru grinned, opening the umbrella. "Thanks, Odango," he said, watching with glee as two bright spots of color lit her cheeks.

"Don't call me that," she hissed, closing the door with a snap. Mamoru laughed to himself, as he turned towards the street. The door creaked open behind him, and he heard Usagi's cautious whisper.

"Mamoru-baka? I forgot to thank you for walking me home."

"Anytime, Odango," Mamoru replied, laughing as she spat her objection to the nickname. "Anytime."


	2. 2 Masks

Part two, drabble 2: Masks

Usagi found the mask in a thrift shop.

'Replica Tuxedo Kamen Mask', the sign proclaimed. 'A bargain at twelve hundred yen!'

There were maybe thirty of them, the stiff white fabric smooth and bright. Usagi fished in her pocket for her wallet, which contained a few notes and some change, totaling a little over two thousand yen.

"Perfect," Usagi said, lifting a mask off the top of the pile, "and I'll still have enough for a milkshake at the arcade."

The world looked different through the mask, Usagi decided. She wondered if this was the same view that Tuxedo Kamen saw, as though they were some how cosmically linked through the view from this plain white mask.

She could even see his face; those mesmerizing blue eyes framed so dramatically by white satin. They seemed so hauntingly familiar, like a faded photograph, a memory she just couldn't quite grasp.

Perhaps she'd met him. She supposed he had to have a civilian identity, like she and the rest of the senshi did. Would she recognize him? Could the mask that hid his identity from the world be used to uncover his secrets?

She slid her fingers along the smooth material as she sipped her milkshake, idly wondering if maybe she and Tuxedo Kamen had ever crossed paths in civilian form.

"What's that?"

She started at the sound of Motoki's voice, and held up the mask for him to see.

"Oh, it's just a replica of Tuxedo Kamen's mask," she said. "Isn't it neat?" She held it over her eyes, striking a pose.

"You look ridiculous, Odango," Mamoru said, as he settled on the barstool a few feet away. Usagi scowled, whirling to berate him.

"Who asked you, Mamo…" her voice faded as the mask slipped from her fingers unnoticed.

_Those eyes. HIS eyes._

Mamoru's gaze drifted away, as though he couldn't quite meet her intense stare. Equally unnerved, Usagi turned her attention back to her milkshake.

'No, surely not,' she told herself. 'You're only imagining things.'


	3. 4 Karma

Part three, drabble 4: Karma

"You eat like a pig," Mamoru exclaimed, watching with morbid curiosity as Usagi all but inhaled the mound of French fries on the platter before her.

"Well, you look like one," she returned between bites.

"Takes one to know one," Mamoru teased, grinning as her eyes sparked with irritation as she rose to the bait.

"You just can't go one day without picking on me, can you, Mamoru-baka?" She made an indignant little sound, stabbing her fork viciously into the mound of fries, pretending it was Mamoru beneath the tines.

"You can't go one day without giving me ammunition, can you, Odango?" he mocked. She hopped off the barstool, cheeks flushed with anger. Mamoru thought she was beautiful. He stood up, preparing for the final confrontation.

"You are the most hateful man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!" she cried, pointing a condemning finger at him.

"Me? What about you? It must be Karma," he said, "what could I _possibly_ have done to deserve _you_?"

She flounced past him, ignoring his last jab, calling a halfhearted goodbye to Motoki and cursing Mamoru even as she flew out the door.

Motoki shook his head, as confused as ever at the byplay between his best friend and his best customer.

"Whatever it was I did to deserve her," Mamoru leaned across the counter to confide in his best friend, "must have been very, very good."


	4. 8 Kiss

Part four, drabble 8: Kiss

It was Cotton Candy Pink, and it was driving Mamoru crazy. The arcade was empty save for he and Usagi, who was applying lip gloss as she waited for Motoki to get a new carton of chocolate ice cream from the freezer in the back. Mamoru watched as Usagi slid the tube of lip gloss across her already pink lips in what must have been the eighteenth application.

"That," Mamoru finally remarked, "is completely unnecessary."

Usagi blinked at him as if she'd only just noticed his appearance.

"Hmm?"

"The lipstick," he waved his hand dismissively. "It's unnecessary."

"What makes you say that?" she sounded vaguely curious. She cocked her head to the side, and he was momentarily distracted by the fall of hair that slid over her shoulder, pooling into her lap. It irritated him that only _she_ could make him feel this way, so foolish and juvenile. She was a distraction he didn't want or need. It made him surly.

"A thing like that," he said, "isn't going to improve your appearance any. You'll need spackle for that."

She gasped, and Mamoru thought that maybe he'd finally crossed the line. What would she do? He watched, quiet and remorseful, as tears welled in her expressive eyes. She blinked them back, something he'd never seen her do before. Finally, her gaze slid back over to him.

"You are nothing more than a bully," she said.

Mamoru hesitated. Should he apologize? Tell her he hadn't meant it?

Usagi slid off the barstool with a grace far beyond her years, crossing the distance between them without taking her eyes off of him.

"You call me childish, but really you're the child, aren't you? No one ever taught you any better than to insult ladies. You're like a little boy who teases a girl to get her attention." She gasped as she realized the accuracy of her statement. Her blue eyes were wide with shock and a sudden newfound knowledge.

"Oh my god, that's it, isn't it? You don't hate me at all. You really _lo-_"

Mamoru panicked, completely unprepared to hear his biggest secret spoken out loud. So he did the only thing he could think of to do. He grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed his lips over hers.

It was the strangest kiss of his life. He was so much taller than she was that he had to bend down to keep their lips connected. The most surprising thing was that she didn't fight him off. She didn't pull away or gasp or try to slap him or any one of a number of things he might have expected. She just stood there, perfectly still, and let him kiss her. And then, even more surprisingly, her hands crept up his chest to his shoulders, and she hauled herself up on her tiptoes, so that he no longer had to bend down so far.

"Oh, god," he breathed against her lips. Her eyes were closed, her delicate brows knitted in concentration. She wasn't at all skilled, and it was terribly obvious that she had no idea what to do, but Mamoru thought it was the most amazing kiss he'd ever had. Because he loved her. And she knew.

The back door swung open, hitting the wall with a bang, and they jerked apart in unison as Motoki hefted a five gallon carton of chocolate ice cream to the front of the store.

"What's going on?" he asked curiously, immediately realizing what had taken place.

"Nothing!" they both quickly denied.

"Nothing at all," Usagi said, her voice shaky. "I…I have to get home. Rain check on that milkshake?"

Motoki nodded, barely concealing his amusement as Usagi ran for the door.

"So," Motoki began, taking a seat behind the counter, "what _really_ went on?"

"Nothing. Really. Nothing," Mamoru said, averting his eyes.

"Right," Motoki tossed a napkin at Mamoru, hitting him square in the face. "Wipe your mouth. Usagi's lipstick looks better on her than it does on you. Pink just isn't your color."


	5. 6 Blue eyes

Part five, drabble 6: Blue eyes

What color _were_ her eyes? Mamoru wondered, as he walked down the street towards the arcade. Most people would say blue, but Mamoru thought that was a pitiful way to describe the fascinating, fluctuating color of Tsukino Usagi's eyes.

When she was angry, they were deep cobalt, a perfect compliment to her flushed cheeks and wildly gesticulating hands. She would shout and rail at him, exhausting her impressive vocabulary of curses until Motoki offered her a milkshake and successfully diverted her attention. Then they magically shifted to that beguiling shade of aquamarine, indicating her pleasure in something.

Every so often, she would catch him staring at her in one of his less guarded moments, and her eyes would slide into that amused sapphire, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he really felt, exactly why he felt the need to tease her instead of admit his true feelings. And then he would quickly repeat the cycle, teasing her until those eyes flashed cobalt with temper.

If she were playing a video game, or talking with her many friends, her eyes would glow with mirth, a shining turquoise, and Mamoru would be enchanted all over again.

And if she were ever sad, which was rare, but he'd seen it on a few unhappy occasions, those navy orbs would be cast downward, glistening with tears.

Mamoru rounded the corner, and his heart plummeted. Usagi, her eyes a wide, glassy indigo, stood perfectly still in the middle of the street, staring straight ahead. He dropped the books he was carrying to the sidewalk and lunged forward with a burst of speed.

_Indigo._

_Terror._

As he shoved her aside, toppling her safely to the pavement, he prayed it was the last time he would ever see that particular shade in her eyes again. The car that had been bearing down on her passed, its brakes screeching in protest. Her slender body shook with fine tremors, and she shakily dusted off her now rumpled school uniform. Fury unlike anything he'd ever know gripped Mamoru. Today, because of her carelessness, he'd almost seen those lovely eyes close forever. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled.

"Have you lost your mind?" he shouted, unmindful of the crowd he was drawing. "You could have been killed! Did you even think about that? Do you _ever_ think before you act? How could you be so careless!"

All at once, her eyes opened, a murky, tear-filled azure. He watched in horror as tears trembled on her long lashes, spilling over her cheeks. She drew in a sobbing breath and flung herself into his arms, shoulders heaving with the force of her tears. His anger melted even as his arms slid around her, cradling her fragile body against the strength of his. He murmured what he hoped were soothing words, as his hands moved comfortingly up and down her shaking back. She held on tighter, burying her face in his neck, and he rocked her even as he felt the collar of his shirt growing damp. This was Usagi, his precious, beautiful Odango. She was frightened, she was upset, and she needed him. He lifted her into his arms, carrying her away from the crowded swarm of onlookers to the safety of the arcade.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, absently noting that he'd slung her schoolbag over his shoulder and was carrying her away from the spot they'd fallen. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, swiping frantically at the tears. Her breath sighed out shakily as she groped desperately for the right words to say to this man, this confusing, annoying, _wonderful_ man who'd saved her life and shouted at her and comforted her.

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his, to those amazing, expressive blue eyes of his, and blushed helplessly.

"Mamoru-baka," she said finally, "you can put me down now."

As he set her gently on her feet, she realized that his eyes weren't blue at all. They were cerulean. And what she had seen lingering in the depths of them all this time was love.


	6. 84 Glasses

Part six, drabble 84: Glasses

Usagi sat at the counter in the arcade, sipping her usual chocolate milkshake, swinging her legs like a child might. Her black shoes hit the underside of the counter with a rhythmic thump every second. Usagi thought it was a pleasant tapping sound, but the dark haired man seated next to her grew increasingly agitated.

"Odango," he sighed, removing his reading glasses briefly, turning that disapproving stare on her. "Don't be so irritating. I'm trying to read."

Usagi answered with another kick, earning a chuckle from Motoki, who didn't seem to care one way or the other. She blinked innocently at Mamoru, who scowled back, settling his glasses back on his face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger.

"Why do you wear those?" she inquired curiously, tilting her head to the side as she sipped her milkshake. Mamoru made an annoyed little sound.

"Because I need them to read. I would have thought that was obvious." Mamoru turned his attention back to his book, but Usagi wasn't satisfied.

"I mean," she said, "why don't you wear contacts instead?"

"Because I don't like them," he replied, idly flipping a page. "The thought of putting something in my eyes gives me the creeps."

"Oh," Usagi replied, setting her empty glass on the counter for Motoki to remove. "I'm glad. I think you look better with glasses, anyway."

Mamoru's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his head swiveled towards her. Usagi belatedly realized the implications of what she'd said and her face flooded with heat.

"I-I mean, I might, if your personality wasn't so rotten," she said quickly. Her face got redder as Mamoru's mouth curved into an amused grin. He watched Usagi desperately grope for words.

"Of...of course, you'd also have to get rid of that awful jacket," she stammered, sliding off the barstool. "And, really, you've got an awful temper…oh, never mind!" She snatched her schoolbag, running out of the arcade, glowing with embarrassment, all too aware of Mamoru's delighted laughter following her.


	7. 19 Liar

Part seven, drabble 19: Liar

"Liar."

Mamoru halted mid-diatribe, utterly confounded by the simple statement issued from Tsukino Usagi's lips. Mentally, he went over the conversation to find his place. Had he insulted her meager vocabulary? Yes. Her grades? More so than usual. Her clumsiness? It would seem so. Where had he left off, then? With her hair? He raked his fingers through his hair, and went for the obvious route…asking her directly.

"What did you say?" he queried.

"I called you a liar," she said, grinning cheekily up at him from her seat at the counter. She swirled her straw in her chocolate milkshake, and brushed her bangs back from her face.

"Please, do enlighten me. How am I a liar?" he asked. Her lips twitched with mirth, and those blue eyes sparkled just so perfectly that he found himself entranced.

"Oh, you know," she said, "it's just that I know you don't hate my hair."

"I don't?"

"No," she said. "In fact, I think you rather like it." She flipped the aforementioned hair over her shoulder, watching him watching it cascade down her back. "See?"

"I…I never said I hated your hair," he defended, hoping it was true. Was it? He'd called it many things, but had he said he hated it?

"Oh, not in so many words," she agreed. "But you've said it was too long, too yellow, not yellow enough, that it got everywhere, that I shed like a dog…" she ticked the insults off on her fingers. "But you don't have to pretend. I already know that you like my hair."

"How could you possibly know a thing like that?" he stared down at her with what he hoped was a stern, forbidding expression. But she seemed completely oblivious to it.

"Because," she said simply, hopping off the stool and tossing a few hundred yen on the counter to cover her tab, "you love me."

"_What?_" Mamoru croaked, more than a little taken aback at her blunt statement. She waved away his incredulity as though it were a fly to be shooed away.

"Oh, I've know it for a long time, now," she laughed. "Goodbye, Mamoru-baka. See you tomorrow!"

She skipped out of the arcade, blissfully ignorant of the absolute shambles in which she had left Mamoru's normally unshakable control.


	8. 60 One Touch

Part eight, drabble 60: One Touch

Mamoru drained his coffee cup, and stole a sidelong glance at Usagi. She was hunched over the counter, absently swirling the straw in her chocolate milkshake. It had long since passed the melting point, and she had taken no more than a few halfhearted sips of it since Motoki had set it before her nearly an hour ago.

There was something different about her, but Mamoru couldn't decide just what it was. But she'd been acting strangely…definitely not at all like herself. She hadn't participated in their daily skirmishes with anything near her usual zeal. Lately she tossed a few paltry insults his way in a vague attempt at normalcy, and then sulked at the counter for the duration of the afternoon, until evening rolled around and she left for him.

Maybe she was sick? Winter had come early this year, and the freezing bursts of snow that blanketed the city had left thousands of people unprepared. But she wasn't sniffling, she didn't appear to have a fever, she hadn't missed any school lately…no, she wasn't sick. What was the problem, then? Was she upset about something? No, that couldn't be it. Nothing fazed Usagi. She was bright and cheerful, regardless of the circumstances. It worried him to see her so morose, so, after much deliberation, he decided he'd have to make some sort of friendly overture to make sure she was really all right.

"I've never seen you so down before, Odango," he said, easing up beside her. She looked up briefly, surprise registering in her eyes before her gaze flickered uneasily away from his. She shifted a little away, an almost unconscious movement. But Mamoru didn't miss it. Had she really been avoiding _him_ all this time? But what had he done to her recently to affect this kind of change in her attitude? In retrospect, he could see that she'd been avoiding confrontation of any sort with him. She offered none of her usual witty banter, she didn't speak to him unless he directly addressed her. She didn't even _look_ at him lately.

"Odango," he said softly, sidling closer. She was huddled against the wall, staring down at the counter. Her fingers bit into the Formica counter top, knuckles white with tension. She seemed almost fragile in that moment, and Mamoru was determined to handle her as though she were made of glass.

"Did I do something that hurt you in any way?" Mamoru reached across the empty space between them to lay his hand on her shoulder, and she erupted in a flurry of motion.

"D-don't touch me!" she scrambled back, but his hand fell on her shoulder, warm even under the soft fabric of her fleecy sweater. Her eyes drifted slowly up to meet his, large and blue and so full of emotion that Mamoru felt as if the wind had been knocked from his lungs. Just this one touch, and suddenly he understood her reticence to his touch, why she'd been avoiding him, why even now her wounded eyes blinked back helpless tears.

Usagi had always worn her emotions openly, and now her heart showed in those marvelous eyes of hers, her love and her fear – her love for him and her fear of his rejection. She'd been unable to stay away from him, and yet terrified that he would somehow uncover her secret.

To his complete and utter horror, the tears she had been trying in vain to keep at bay suddenly poured profusely over her startlingly pale cheeks. Her trembling fingers touched her wet cheeks as though in disbelief, and she pulled them away, staring at the telltale wetness. All too quickly, she shrugged his hand off her shoulder, dashing frantically for the door.

"What the hell did you do to her _this_ time, Mamoru…_Mamoru_?" Mamoru was out the door after her before Motoki had even finished his question.

The snow was piling higher, and his breath puffed out frosty and white in the air as he forced his legs faster, chasing after her. He wasn't sure his lungs even held enough air to shout her name. Her sneakers kicked up powdery snow, flinging it back at him as she dashed across the street to the park. The hills were covered in white, and Usagi's pink sweater stood out starkly against the white and gray scenery.

"_Usagi_! Damn it, stop running!" his lungs burned and the frigid air scratched at his throat. She disappeared over a snowy hill, and he heard a shrill shriek. He caught his breath, darting down the hill in time to see her struggling to regain her footing in more than a foot of snow. She trudged desperately along, but finally Mamoru had the advantage. He was more than a foot taller than she was - much more easily able to wade through the snow.

He caught up with her, shoving her ruthlessly down into the snow. The force of her fall sent snow flurries hurling into the air, and Mamoru grabbed for her to ensure she couldn't get away again. He pinned her down with the weight of his body, forcing her back to the ground with his hands on her shoulders.

"Damn it, why the hell did you run?" he shouted, frustrated with her unanticipated reaction and her continued struggles. The snow fell lightly all around then, tiny flakes sticking to her clumped eyelashes.

"Let go of me!" she cried, shoving at his shoulders. But she was so much smaller than he was, she didn't have his strength or his weight, and she knew that she was stuck there for as long as he wanted to keep her there.

"No," he said, holding her down firmly. "Stop struggling, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

Finally, she stilled beneath him, but those helpless tears still slid down her cheeks. He lifted one hand to gently rub them off her face.

"Please," the word escaped her tight throat on a sob, "please don't hate me."

He made an affronted sound, hurting because she was hurting. His cold fingers slid into her hair caressingly.

"I don't hate you. How could I hate you? It would be like hating myself." He bent down, brushing his lips across her forehead, feeling the tiny flakes of snow and her warm skin beneath his lips.

"I couldn't help it," her breath came in quick little pants, her eyes squeezing shut as if she could block out the sight of him, as if not seeing would make it less real. Her fingers crept up to clutch at his shirt. "I tried not to love you."

"Why?" His voice was curious, not reproachful, and his hands lifted her up so gently from the cold ground, tucking her shivering body up against his warm one, cheek pressed against his chest.

"Because you don't love me. You couldn't love me."

"Usagi," his voice was warm and husky, and his hands traveled reassuringly up and down her back, "no one could look at you like I have, speak with you like I have, argue with you like I have, or laugh with you like I have without loving you."

"I always thought you hated me. You've always seemed so distant, so unattainable." Her eyes opened, watchful and wary, but wonderfully free of tears.

"I thought _you_ hated _me,_" he laughed. "You were so beautiful, so full of life. I never thought you might love me in return. At least, until this afternoon. I was worried about you. You seemed so…tragic. You have such expressive eyes, Odango. I could see it right away, so clearly, and it surprised me. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I was afraid," she said. "I wouldn't ever have told you, if you hadn't found out for yourself."

"Just that one touch," he said. "And now, everything's changed."

"Is it?" it was a wistful little sigh, a prayer, a desperate hope.

"Of course." He flicked her forehead in irritation, then he kissed the tip of her nose. "Usako," he said, surprised at how easily the endearment came to his lips, "I'm yours forever, if you want me."

"Oh," her breath feathered out in a pure puff of white, and she laid her head against his chest, tucked securely under his chin. Her eyes fluttered closed, a smile chasing across her lips as her fingers tapped a faint rhythm against his chest. "I can't think of anything I want more."


	9. 15 Mistake

She'd been talking for almost fifteen minutes, an endless stream of trivial thoughts and stories. Mamoru closed his book with a snap, startling Usagi from her train of thought. She stopped talking mid-sentence, a feeling of unease creeping up on her as Mamoru slowly removed his glasses and set them on the counter.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked uncomfortably as he turned to face her. "Because I really don't think this would be a good time to get into another argument. I mean, Motoki was really kind of irritated today, and I don't want to make him-"

"Usagi," his voice was low and calm, and it unnerved her completely. "Stop."

She swiveled back to face the counter, trying her best to ignore his heated stare.

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything. See? I'm just sitting here, not bothering you at all, so it's probably best if we just-" she squeaked in surprise as she turned to find him looming over her, her nose to his chest. He lifted her off the barstool, setting her on her feet.

"Hey," she protested, backing away from him, "don't…don't manhandle me."

His dark chuckle sent shivers skittering up her back.

"If I were manhandling you," he said, backing her up against the wall, "you would know it."

"Cut it out," she pushed at his chest, but trying to move him was like trying to move a brick wall. "You're…making me nervous."

"I know," he said. "Don't you think I know that? You're so jumpy all the time. You chatter on like you can't stop. You fidgit. You stare at me. We need to settle this once and for all."

"Settle what?" Her voice rose a full octave, high and panicky. "There's nothing to settle!"

"I think there is," he insisted, planting his hands firmly against the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her there. "Tell me why you're so jumpy all the time. What is it exactly that makes you lose your composure when you're around me?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back and gulping down her nerves. He leaned in slowly, and she could practically hear the blood pounding in her ears. He bent his head, brushing his lips lightly against her forehead, her cheek, and finally settling against her throat, right on her fluttering pulse.

"Your heart," he murmured after a moment, "is racing like you've run a mile. Why?"

"I don't…" her voice was a weak, dying gasp. She tried again. "I don't _know_."

"You know," he said softly. "You just don't want to say it. What are you so afraid of?"

She wrung her hands nervously. Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thump, and her eyes squeezed shut.

"You," she whispered finally. "Don't do this. Please don't do this to me."

"You can't pretend forever," he insisted. "You're going to have to face it sometime. Just get it over with."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think with him so near. Desperately, she grasped for a distraction.

"Motoki-san…he'll be back, soon."

"Uh-uh," he said, refusing the bait. "You're not getting out that easily."

His broad chest blocked out the light and he towered over her. She hated feeling small and helpless, hated him for taking the choice from her. Not, she admitted to herself, that she would ever have made one without his intervention.

"Look," he shifted, propping himself up with one hand, and settling the other one on her shoulder. "Will it make you more comfortable if I go first?"

His thumb rubbed against the neckline of her blouse, stroking across her warm, smooth skin.

"Stop that." She brushed at his hand in annoyance. His deep chuckle irritated her.

"Why should I?"

"Because," she began, lifting his hand off her shoulder, "I can't think when you do that."

"So don't think," he replied. He slid his free hand over her shoulder, his warm fingers brushing lightly across her skin. His hand cupped her neck, arching her head back just enough. His head bent towards hers, and her hands came up between them, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. She tried one last time.

"You can't…do this."

"Of course I can," he said, and kissed her. She could have turned away, but instead she let him settle his lips over hers in a light caress. He pressed closer, reaching an arm around her waist. He was so close that she could smell him, smell the tangy scent of his aftershave that still clung to him and the scent of the hazelnut coffee he'd spent the afternoon gulping down. She drew in a shaky breath, fingers desperately clutching his shoulders. She couldn't remember when she'd placed them there, when she'd stopped protesting and started cooperating.

"Whoa. What's going on?"

Usagi whimpered at the unwelcome intrusion, ducking her head so she was hidden from view. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders in distress, making him wince.

Mamoru pulled just a little away, but his eyes caught hers.

"Give us a moment," Mamoru said. His voice was strained, as though he was quickly losing control.

"Uh, sure," Motoki sounded bewildered. "I'll just…be in the back."

Awkwardly, Usagi unclenched her fingers, releasing Mamoru's shoulders from the death grip she'd inflicted upon them. Her gaze drifted downward, avoiding his.

"Hey," he cupped her chin, lifting her face to force her eyes upwards. "Cut that out."

"Cut what out? I'm not doing anything," she defended stoically.

"You're…retreating." He frowned. "I can practically feel you closing up. You're shutting me out, just like you always do."

"Don't get cocky," she ordered. "You're always like this, like you have some kind of right to…to just throw your weight around." She shoved at his chest again, winning a minor victory as he moved back a few inches to give her a little space. She tried to sidestep him and ended up pinned against the wall.

"Don't run out on me just yet," he ordered. "We haven't gotten anything settled." His hands held her shoulders firmly against the wall, and his eyes had gone nearly black.

"What's to settle? The less we have to see of each other, the better." Her throat burned with the lie. He glared at her and she glared right back stubbornly. "Can I go, please?"

"No. You're going to stand right there and listen until I say otherwise."

She bristled with temper at his arrogance.

"You just _love_ to push me around, don't you," she said. "Can't you be a decent person for _once_ in your miserable life and give a girl a break?"

"No," he snapped. "Now shut up and listen."

She shut up. When he spoke again, his voice was noticably softer.

"Look," he sighed, "I don't want to make you nervous. I don't want you to be afraid of me." He shifted closer, his hands gentling on her shoulders. "I love you," he said softly. She made a gasping sound, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as though she were afraid of what she might say.

"Don't say that," she choked out finally.

"It's true," he said. "And you love me. We both know it. God, it's so obvious."

"No," she denied hastily. "I don't. I can't. I won't." She shook her head, wide-eyed.

"Usagi, you can't keep doing this," Mamoru sighed. "You've got to stop running away. You've got to meet me halfway."

"No!" She shoved him with all her strength. He gave up gracefully, allowing her to dart around him towards the door. She paused at the exit, looking back at him helplessly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

"Don't," she replied. "I can't do this. I _can't _do this."

"You're scared," he said. "I understand. I'm not happy, but I understand. You'll figure it out sooner or later. I'll wait for you."

She fled.

"Well," Motoki said, emerging from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel, "_that_ certainly went well."

Mamoru shrugged noncommittally as he dropped onto a barstool. He rubbed his temples and slumped over the counter, folding his arms over his head.

"She's like a butterfly," he said, his words muffled by the counter top. "If I push her too hard, if I chase her too fast, she'll get scared and fly away and be gone forever. But maybe, if I stay still long enough, she'll stop being afraid and come close enough to let herself be caught."

"Makes sense," Motoki said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I _still _don't know where all of this came from. It seems like a few weeks ago, you two couldn't stand each other."

"Yeah, well, for a long time I was sure she hated me. It took me a long time to figure out she really loves me," Mamoru agreed.

"From what I saw, she wasn't exactly thrilled with your declaration. She seemed downright horrified. How can you be so sure?"

"Well," Mamoru hesitated. "To be honest, I'm not. But I've loved her for a long time. There's never been anyone but her for me. There never will be. I figured it was time to take a chance, to find out what she really feels. She's been...acting strangely for a while, now. Whatever it is she feels for me, she's fighting it hard. I don't know how she'll handle it. It's possible she'll never come here again."

Motoki winced at his defeated tone. He'd never seen Mamoru so dejected.

"So," he said finally. "What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I can do," Mamoru replied. "Wait."

- -

Usagi wandered Tokyo, torn between laughter and tears. It was ridiculous to think that Mamoru was in love with her. It was a completely ludicrous thought. It had to be a joke or a dream...more likely a nightmare. Laughter gurgled in her throat - a strange reaction that she could not account for. She passed a store with bright, glossy windows as her hysterics dissolved into hiccoughs and sniffles, and was astounded that her reflection stared back at her with tears rolling down its cheeks. She touched her eyes experimentally, and wiped the wetness away furiously. She tried a smile in the mirror, but saw only a tremulous grimace.

Dismayed, she jogged across the street to the park. It was a cool evening, and her light blouse did little to soothe the goosebumps that rose on her arms. She rubbed them briskly, finding shelter from the cool wind in a thicket of trees down by the lake. She sat beneath the hanging branches of a willow as the evening turned to night, and the first few dim stars speckled the sky. At last, alone and cold and confused, she faced herself.

'I don't love him,' she thought, 'of course I don't. He's just...just Mamoru-baka. How could I love him?'

But the question wasn't _how_, it was _why_, and that was one to which she had an answer.

'He's a jerk. He's been horrible to me for years. I can't love him because he's seven years older than me. He's too smart. He's too sophisticated.'

She was lying to herself, and she knew it. She hadn't seen any of this coming. She might never have sorted out her own feelings if he hadn't forced her to do so.

She dropped her head into the cradle of her arms and let out a harsh breath.

'He doesn't love me,' she told herself. 'I don't know why he said he did, but he doesn't. He couldn't. He doesn't know anything about me. He's just...just trying to hurt me again.'

But she knew better than that. She'd failed to convince herself of anything all around, and a frustrated sob escaped her tight throat. She'd made a mistake. A big mistake.

'How could he have known? How could he have known I loved him when I wasn't even sure? What do I do, now?'

But of course, there was only one thing to do.

After all, he _had_ said that he would be waiting.

- -

It started raining on the way, and she shivered, folding her arms over her chest. She didn't go home. She couldn't go home. If she went home, she'd lose her nerve. So she walked. Past the park, past the arcade, past the Hikawa temple, just beyond the college, right to Mamoru's apartment complex. She trudged up seven flights of stairs, her sodden jeans chafing her legs, her shoes making wet, slushing noises. Her heart jumped into her throat as she walked down the hallway, finally stopping in front of his door. She stood there for several minutes, waging a fierce inner battle, her heart against her mind, whether to stay or whether to leave. Finally, she forced herself forward, rapping quickly on his door. Her stomach clenched violently, and she bit her lower lip against the wave of nausea that rolled over her. She'd almost decided to cut and run when the door swung open, revealing a shoeless Mamoru in jeans and a white t-shirt. He didn't look at all surprised to see her.

"Usagi-san," he said neutrally. His voice revealed nothing, and she desperately wanted him to say something, just one little thing that might take some of the pressure off of her.

"Mamoru-san," she whispered finally, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "I...I just...I wanted to..." She trailed off, staring at him helplessly.

He sighed, leaning back against the doorframe. "Usagi," he said softly, soothingly, "I can't always be the one to bend. I know it's hard to tell me how you feel, but I need to hear it. I need to hear how you feel as much as you needed to hear what I felt."

"I didn't need that!" she gasped, galvanized by his words. "It was scary and...and confusing, and I didn't need it at all!"

"Well, then, I apologize," he said swiftly. "I'll keep my feelings to myself, if that's the way you want it." He turned, reentering his apartment, pushing the door closed.

"Wait!" Usagi cried.

He paused, the door half-closed, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Please...please don't go."

Obligingly, he stepped back through the door, crossing his arms over his chest. She nibbled her lower lip, twisting her fingers as she struggled to sort her jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. Her body trembled, but she was no longer sure if it was with nerves or cold.

"Usagi," he wheedled expectantly. Heat flared in her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"This is _hard_," she defended loudly. "I never thought I would be doing this, I never _wanted_ to do this, Mamoru-baka, and it's _all your fault_!" Her hands fisted as her sides. His eyebrows rose in surprise, more than a little amused at the picture she made, every part of her body tense and shaking, her face flushed redder than a cherry. He moved forward, settling his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes opened, and she stared at him in surprise, as though she hadn't expected him to touch her.

"You're wet," he exclaimed suddenly, sliding his hands down her arms, to test the dampness. "And cold."

"Of course," she said crisply, looking at him like he wasn't too bright, "I walked here in the rain, baka."

"Come inside," he said. "I'll get you some dry clothes. I don't want you to catch a cold."

She followed him hesitantly, standing by the door as he disappeared down the hall towards what was presumably his bedroom to get some clothes. He had seemed so intimidating before, his eyes almost accusing as he stared at her expectantly. Now he was different, a little warmer, a little kinder. But she knew if she prolonged the inevitable, it would only irritate her, and he'd revert to that other Mamoru, the one with the cold eyes and the accusing stare.

He emerged a few moments later, carrying a pair of pajama pants and a large, white button-up shirt. He handed them over and ushered her down the hall to the bathroom.

She walked in, flipped on the light, and turned to face him.

"I love you," she said quite clearly, and shut the door in his face.

- -

"Usagi," Mamoru said patiently, "I can get a screwdriver and pop the lock."

He tapped a soft rhythm on the door. He'd been sitting there, on the carpet, locked outside of his own bathroom, for the last fifteen minutes. He'd tried just about everything – luring her out with food, with candy, with promises of milkshakes and chocolate sundaes – to no avail. With a sigh, he rested his head against the door.

On the other side, Usagi rested her head against the door, listening to Mamoru's rhythmic tapping.

"I'm scared," she whispered finally. The tapping stopped.

"What are you scared of?" he asked back, his voice low and gentle.

"Of…of something changing," she said, pressing her hands to the door. It was cool against her cheek, and Mamoru's clothes were warm and comfortable. Her wet hair was twisted up in a tight bun.

"Things have to change," Mamoru said. She was glad that he didn't sound angry. He was a lot more patient with her than he needed to be, and Usagi was grateful for that. She didn't think she would have the patience to deal with all of the time she demanded. It made Mamoru that much more special to her.

"Why? I liked things the way they were." Her voice sounded plaintive and whiny, and Usagi cringed as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Change," Mamoru said, "can be good. It will be good for us."

"How do you know that," she asked.

"Because I love you," he said, and she could hear it in his voice. "And you love me. You don't have to be afraid of this. I'll never hurt you."

"Do you promise?"

He smiled at the whispered plea.

"I promise," he said. "Now, will you come out? I want to kiss you."

"Oh…Okay." A few seconds later, the doorknob turned and she emerged from the room, studying her toes in obvious embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, in a tiny voice, "I've caused you a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing as she glared up at him. He swung her up into his arms, his nose bumping hers as he planted a kiss somewhere in the vicinity of her lips. "But you're definitely worth it."


	10. 7 Things left unsaid

While I was writing this, I sort of wondered if I was making it too hard to understand. I think maybe I worded it too awkwardly. I meant it to be a little awkwardly worded, but maybe I went too far. Please tell me what you think.

Drabble number seven: Things left unsaid

Mamoru sat just inches away from Usagi, watching as she sipped her milkshake.

"I love you," he didn't say.

She didn't smile and say it back, or reach for his hand, or offer him a kiss.

So he didn't slide his arm around her waist or settle her comfortably against his side.

She didn't giggle over his stories about his day at work, and he didn't chide her about her inability to get to school on time.

They didn't laugh together when he accidentally dropped a sugar cube onto his lap instead of into his coffee cup because he was too busy studying the way the light shimmered over her silky hair to pay attention to what he was doing.

She didn't offer to get him a napkin, and he didn't kiss her small fingers until she gifted him with a beautiful smile.

He didn't escort her out of the arcade, and they didn't walk together down the crowded sidewalk towards her house.

He didn't offer her his jacket, and she didn't refuse to wear it on the grounds that it was hideous. Together, they didn't stand on her porch for nearly a half an hour, until she didn't tell him that she had to go in or her father would come out with a shotgun.

And he certainly didn't walk home by himself, only to not call her the minute he walked in the door. They also didn't talk until midnight about trivial things that neither one wouldn't remember the next day.

All in all, it was probably the best day he'd never had.

He paid his tab, scooped up his books, and left the arcade, wondering all the while why he could never work up the nerve to just tell her.


	11. 35 Daily Planner

Drabble 35: Daily Planner

"Mamoru left his planner here," Motoki said, tossing the small black book over the counter to Usagi. She caught it on reflex, staring down at the worn leather in consternation.

"Enlighten me," she responded. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Motoki sighed wearily.

"Mamoru is a creature of habit. He writes absolutely everything down in that wretched little book of his. When he finds out he's left it somewhere, he'll go absolutely nuts. I'll give you a thousand yen and free milkshakes for a week if you go return it to him."

The prospect of an unlimited supply of milkshakes for an entire week proved too much a temptation to resist.

"Done," she said, hopping off the barstool. "Where does he live?"

"If he can even _remember_ where he lives without his precious planner, he'll be at the apartment complex across the street from the Hikawa temple. The ugly blue ones."

She made a face. "I know them. What number?"

"Three twelve," Motoki responded. "I'm pretty sure he's got directions written somewhere in his planner, in case you get lost."

Usagi rolled her eyes. "I'll go right now. It shouldn't take too long. Be a pal and whip me up a milkshake for when I get back, okay?" She snickered, jogging out the door and down the street.

She savored the idea of the perfectly controlled Chiba Mamoru panicking when he discovered his precious daily planner was missing. It was such a delightful thought that she briefly considered refusing Motoki's bribe and hanging on to the planner long enough to witness Mamoru's breakdown.

Idly, she flipped the book open. His name and address was written neatly on the first page, along with three phone numbers and two e-mail addresses. Clearly, he _did_ live in fear of losing his organizer. She flipped to the last entry, curious about Mamoru's daily habits. There were nice, neat lines through each of the completed items.

_5:30 a.m. Shower and breakfast_

'Dear God,' Usagi thought, 'he gets up at 5:30? No wonder he's so cranky all the time.'

_7:00 a.m. Chemistry lecture_

_9:30 a.m. Anatomy lecture_

_12:30 p.m. Lunch_

_1:15 p.m. Hospital residency curriculum_

What an extraordinarily boring day he'd had.

_3:45 p.m. Crown's for coffee and chocolate cake._

Well, that was a little better.

_4:15 p.m. Odango arrives. Daily fight._

Her brow knitted in confusion. He planned their skirmishes?

_5:00 p.m. Confess undying love to Odango._

It was the only item not crossed off. She flipped back through the pages quickly. Each day had only one uncompleted task, scheduled for 5:00 p.m. It went back for months. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. She swallowed hard, fighting off the strange lump of emotion that swelled in her throat.

"Odango?"

She shrieked and jumped, facing Mamoru guiltily.

"Are you okay?" He asked kindly.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine!" she gasped. "You scared me, that's all."

"Sorry." His shaggy bangs fell over his face, nearly hiding his expressive blue eyes. "I, uh…forgot my planner at the arcade. Motoki said he sent you to my place to return it."

"Oh, yes, of course. Here." She shoved the book at him, grateful to be rid of the nonsensical thing.

"You didn't…read it…did you?" His voice was low, with a tiny undertone of distress. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"No, of course not. Why would I do that?" She laughed, too loudly. His eyes narrowed a little.

"Anyway, I've really got to go," she said brightly. "Motoki promised me free milkshakes for a week to return your planner, and I could really go for a shake right now. See you!"

"I'll come with you," he said.

"No! No, that's really okay! I'll have to get it to go, anyway, since my mom's expecting me to cook dinner tonight! Maybe some other time?"

"Odango," he began softly, moving towards her. She danced a few feet away, and he let her go, shoving his hands into his pants pockets with a sigh.

"I just…I just…I've really got to go," her eyes pleaded with him not to push the issue. He knew she was confused and a little upset.

"Okay," he said. He tucked the planner into his jacket pocket. "I'll see you later, then. Are you going to be at Crown's tomorrow?"

She hesitated, watching the light in his eyes die at what her perceived to be her rejection. She took a deep breath.

"Of course I'll be at Crown's tomorrow," she said abruptly. "I've got a week's worth of milkshakes to claim!" She offered him a hesitant smile, and skipped a little ways down the sidewalk. She stopped and turned. He was still standing there, watching her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mamoru-baka! Don't plan on a fight at 4:15 this time, okay?" She stuck out her tongue, gleefully listening to his surprised laughter as she jogged away.


	12. 9 Button

Drabble 9: Button

"You're not having a good day." It was a statement, not a question, but it still irked Mamoru. He rounded on the curious blonde girl who was innocently sipping her milkshake.

"What on Earth lead you to the brilliant deduction, Odango?" He grumbled, downing his coffee in one long gulp.

"Well, for starters, you look terrible." She looked him over, 'tsk'ing over the rumpled state of his dress shirt (which lacked a button) and his poorly knotted tie. His hair stuck up at odd angles. His petulant frown made him look all the more ridiculous, and she couldn't resist giggling.

He glared, and she stifled her amusement, adopting an expression of careful consideration.

"Mamoru-baka," she sighed. "How did you manage to go so long without learning how to correctly knot a tie?"

"Are you telling me you can do it?" He eyed her skeptically.

"Of course I can," she dismissed his doubt, waving her hand in irritation. "Take it off."

He obediently tugged the knot loose, laying the tie on the counter.

"The shirt, too."

He scowled. "I am not taking off my shirt in a public place."

"Prudery does not become you," she taunted. "Take it off. You've got an undershirt, too, haven't you?"

He glared, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt. She took it, laying it gently across her lap and she fished in her tiny purse. She pulled out a little box, which Mamoru was a little surprised to discover was a travel-sized sewing kit.

"The button," she prompted. He dug it out of his pocket, watching curiously as she cut a length of string, threaded a needle, and neatly sewed his button back on his shirt.

"Wow. Thanks. I didn't know you could sew." He shrugged back into the shirt, thrilled to find that the button held perfectly. She rolled her eyes.

"It's a button, not rocket science," she replied. She slung the tie around his neck, deftly knotting it. She tightened it a little, sliding the knot to fit comfortably at the collar of his shirt.

"Where did you learn to knot a tie?" He asked conversationally.

"Oh, well, my mom used to do it for my dad before he went to work in the mornings, but she came down with a bad case of the flu when I was ten, so she taught me to tie them for him. My brother was too little to help, then. I guess I just never forgot."

She pulled a comb from her purse, dragging it through his disheveled hair until it lay smoothly.

"There. Now you look halfway presentable, at least." She grinned up at him as she stuffed her comb and sewing kit back into her purse.

"Well, I guess you're good for something after all," he said. She glared at him, sticking out her tongue. He laughed at her antics, then leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek.

"Thanks, Odango. You're fantastic."


	13. 34 Ball of yarn

Drabble number 34: Ball of Yarn

Usagi bounded into the arcade, bright and full of energy despite being sopping wet. Her blonde hair was weighted down with water, hanging nearly to her calves, dripping steadily on the tile floor. She clutched her damp windbreaker tightly against herself, shielding something from the rain.

"Hi, Motoki-chan," she chirped, climbing unsteadily onto her usual barstool. "Can I have a milkshake, please?"

"It's raining," Mamoru remarked casually. "Wouldn't you prefer something warm?"

"Like what, coffee?" She made a face. "No, I think a chocolate milkshake will be just fine, Mamoru-baka. Motoki-chan…you wouldn't mind if I…brought a friend into the arcade…would you?"

"No, of course not," Motoki scoffed. "Why do you ask?"

There was a suspicious mewing sound, muffled only slightly by Usagi's windbreaker, and she had the grace to flush. She opened the jacket, gently placing a bewildered, wet kitten on the counter.

"He's my friend," she said quickly. "I'm calling him Taka. Can he stay for a little while? You wouldn't want to put such an adorable, defenseless little kitten out in the rain, would you?" She turned puppy-dog eyes on Motoki, who melted at once.

"Okay, okay. He can stay. Hold on a second and I'll get him some milk." Motoki disappeared, and Mamoru reached across the counter for some napkins. He opened them up, draped them over the shivering kitten, and rubbed its fur briskly. The kitten mewed a startlingly loud protest at the rough treatment.

"Hey! You don't need to be so rough with Taka-chan," Usagi protested as Mamoru scooped up the kitten, cradling it against his chest. It began to purr loudly, kneading the fabric of Mamoru's hideous green jacket.

"Aw, you're just the most precious little kitten ever, aren't you," Mamoru cooed, stroking Taka's still-damp fur. Mamoru gently disentangled the tiny claws from his jacket, and shrugged out of it. Then he carefully wrapped the small kitten in the heavy fabric, bundling it up like a baby in his arms, oblivious to Usagi's astounded stare.

Motoki cleared his throat as he set down a small saucer of warmed milk, jerking Mamoru out of his kitten-induced preoccupation.

"Mamoru, are you all right?" Usagi sounded baffled, and Mamoru could only guess she found his behavior odd.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." He stole a glance her way, noting her perplexed expression. "What?" He stared back unflinchingly. "I happen to like little kitties." He unwrapped Taka – who was now warm and dry – and set him on the counter. The kitten eagerly lapped at the milk.

"I would never have figured you for a cat person. I didn't think you liked animals at all," Usagi said, openly staring at him. Mamoru flushed guiltily, more than a little embarrassed at having his aloof demeanor shot to hell by one small, fluffy kitten.

"I like animals," he said, "I've just never had one of my own."

"Well, why not?" Usagi was aghast at the thought. "Even I have a cat. Her name's Luna. Hey, I know! Why don't you keep Taka?" Her eyes glowed with pleasure at the thought. Mamoru smiled, stroking the kitten's soft fur.

"I can't," he said. "My apartment doesn't allow pets."

"Move."

He laughed, delighted with her naïveté.

"It's not quite that easy," he sighed. "I'd like to keep him, but I can't. But," he said, "I will take care of him until I can find him a home."

"You will? Oh, thank you!" Her lips touched his cheek for a brief, delicious moment. "My mom would _kill _me if I brought home another pet," she explained. "She thinks one cat is too much. I didn't know what I was going to do with him."

"Don't worry about it," Mamoru said, fighting a blush at her unanticipated show of affection and gratitude. "Just don't tell my landlord."

"I won't," she promised, grinning. "Hey, Motoki-chan. Didn't Reika-san knit you a sweater a while back?"

Motoki grimaced. "Yeah," he said. "I think it had three arms. She's got her knitting stuff stashed all over the back room. I don't have the heart to tell her to give it up."

"Well," Usagi began, "if she couldn't find her yarn, she might give it up for a while. And, well, poor Taka-chan doesn't have any toys. You wouldn't want poor Taka-chan to be without even such a simple toy as a ball of yarn, would you?"

Motoki looked delighted with the prospect of getting rid of possible future disfigured sweaters. He disappeared briefly, only to return with a bag brimming with brightly colored balls of yarn.

"Take it," he said, thrusting the bag over the counter towards Mamoru.

"Uh, I really only need one," Mamoru said.

"No, no, don't be shy," Motoki insisted. "Take it _all._ Please, I'm begging you."

"Okay, fine, I'll take it," Mamoru laughed. "But don't expect me to cover for you when Reika-san finds out her yarn's gone." He stood, wrapping Taka in his jacket. "I've got to go to the store to get some essentials for Taka before it closes," he explained as he shrugged into his jacket, and tucked the kitten tightly inside, close to his chest.

"I'll start looking for possible families for Taka-chan tomorrow," he called back to Usagi on his way out the door.

Usagi sighed, slumping over the counter.

"I wanted him to keep Taka-chan," she said softly, drumming her fingertips on the cool surface.

"Why him?" Motoki asked.

"Because," she said mournfully, "then I'd have an excuse to go over and visit."

"Ah." Motoki patted her hair comfortingly. "Poor kid."

-

Mamoru had spared no expense for the kitten, which was eating 'gourmet' canned cat food with gusto on his living room rug. He plopped unceremoniously down beside Taka, watching the kitten tackle the loaf of cat food that was almost half its size.

"What am I going to do with you?" He sighed, reaching out to stroke the kitten, who arched his back to prolong the contact.

"Let's see. I bought you ten cans of food. That's a week and a half if you eat a can a day." He tossed a ball of yarn across the floor, watching Taka pounce on it. The blue yarn unraveled steadily across the floor as Taka rolled it along. "I wish I could keep you. I always wanted a cat." Taka wriggled across the floor, his rear legs tangled in yarn. Mamoru laughed, tugging the yarn away. "I have no idea how I'm going to find a home for you," Mamoru admitted to the kitten. "Maybe I'll have to take out an ad in the paper. Though," he mused, "I suppose if I kept you, Usagi would come and visit you every once in a while."

Taka, tired of his war with the ball of yarn, and completely unaware of his uncertain fate, climbed his way up Mamoru's chest and curled up to sleep.

-

"How's Taka-chan doing?" Usagi asked excitedly as she skipped in the front door of the arcade.

"Just fine," Mamoru said, draining his coffee cup. "He's been getting himself tangled in yarn and making a general shambles of my apartment." But he couldn't help grinning. "Anyway, I have to go." He slid off his barstool.

"So soon?" Usagi sounded hurt.

"Yeah, I have to pack," he said, smiling down at her.

"Pack?" A look of utter confusion crossed her face.

"I'm moving," he said. "So I can keep Taka."

The look on her face, he decided, and the feel of her slender arms around his neck, were worth it.

_I know, I know, Mamoru doesn't have a cat._

_But I really do think he's a cat person._

_And I really wanted him to have his own cat, finally._


End file.
